Abandonment Issues
by oblivioncas
Summary: Trevor hasn't seen Michael Townley in two years, and right before starting his sophomore year of high school, Michael seems to be on his mind more than ever.
1. Something's Gotta Give

Mr. Sanchez sits at his desk, a disapproving glare pointed directly at Trevor as he shuffles papers around.

"Trevor. This is the fourteenth time you've gotten into a fight with someone. This _month._ What do you have to say for yourself?"

Trevor, he snickers for a second, props his feet onto his principal's desk, and just laughs. What can he say? It's not like he truly cares at this point. Hey, it wasn't his fault that fucking Johnny Klebitz decided that it was a great idea to accuse Trevor of stealing 'his girl', Ashley.

Suddenly, the familiar shrieking of the dismissal bell goes off, and the growing lumbering of feet tear through the hallway.

"Well, _Mr._ Sanchez, it was very nice talking with you. But ah- it seems that I am no longer under your regime, and since it is the last day of school, I'll leave with two words. Fuck _you_." He spat, getting to his feet and out the door before the principal could do anything.

Trevor merrily slung his backpack around his shoulders as he waded through the horde of school-aged children, their mothers swaddling them up in as many jackets as they could with-stand even though it was only 70 degrees outside.

Once everyone vacated the building, they all made sure to steer clear of the already 5"11' lanky bundle of rage that is Trevor Philips. He didn't mind though, he never does. The sun has broken through the gloomy mid-day clouds and is illuminating a small path in front of T. As he walks towards it, trees and shrubs get caught on his ankles, but barely slow him down.

Today, he is going to meet someone, someone special.

After swatting his way through the woods, he comes across a small clearing, obviously kept hidden and out of site. Trevor lays his backpack softly onto the tall grass, and practically falls, face first, into the ground. He rolls over to face the sky, grass gently brushing his face, birds humming their songs all around him. Wind rustles overhead, slinging loose leaves into the heavens as Trevor breathes calmly. This, right here, is something that never gets old.

Soft footsteps are heard padding through the grass, and when Trevor looks up, all he sees is a faint smile blocking the sun, the other boy's face a mere inches away from his.

"Hiya, T." is all Michael says before he crumbles to the ground right next to Trevor.

"Hiya, M." Trevor teases back, shifting onto his side and nestling his face into the crook of Michael's arm, breathing in his scent deeply.

They could fall asleep like this, legs and arms wrapped in each other, the sun keeping them warm, the grass almost becoming something as comfortable as a pillow. Trevor balls M's lettermen jacket up in his hands, Michael's fingers kneading his head and quietly straining through his hair. The two boys are curled up in each other so evenly, their bodies seemingly inseparable. Everything is cool and calm and quiet when Michael whispers something inaudible.

Trevor's ears perk up slightly and he opens an eye. "What did you say?"

Michael sighs and rolls onto his back. He takes his fingers out of Trevor's hair and places it into his jacket pocket.

"T. I'm moving."

The summer sun becomes shade, the wind cold and desolate, and everything Trevor worked so hard to have dissolves in a second of time.

2 years later-

"Ron, fucking go. You're good." Trevor whispers to his friend, watching him run up to a woman and 'fall' in front of her.

As Ron squirms exaggeratedly on the mall's marble ground in mock pain, Trevor running over to him and expertly swiping a wallet out the pocket of the heavy coat the woman is wearing, passing it off as a simple 'pardon me and my friend here' brush of the arms.

Trevor manhandles Ron back up onto his legs and nods his apology to the woman before making their way to Wade in the back corner of the mall.

"So…," Wade questions," was it good? I didn't see nobody 'round here notice nothing."

Trevor shoves Ron back in place next to Wade, jerking open the leather wallet with a crooked finger and fishing around inside. He looks past the random cards scattered in it and eventually tugs a few bills out of the main pocket.

Ron and Wade step forward, and at the same time Trevor takes a step back, shaking his head and thumbing the money in his hand.

"Here, accept my generosity and leave me the fuck alone." T mutters, pressing $5 into the waiting hands of his two friends, before silently pocketing a $20 before turning on his heel.

Walking away from his co-conspirators, he can still faintly hear Ron's frantic "thank you's" climb above the midday crowd. Trevor shoves his grimy hands into the front of his jeans and walks along the side of the mall's long central hallway, pausing only to inspect the cluttered store front windows.

Eventually, Trevor finds himself in the mall's cafeteria, lined up for fast food along with nearly half of the mall's patrons. In a few minutes, he has his food, and scans the place for an empty table. He plops down at one farthest away from anyone else and rips open his greasy bag, spilling half of its contents out onto the table as T shovels food into his mouth. T's slobbering and eating like he hasn't in weeks, because, well, he _hasn't._

It's been the first time this week that he's had a hot meal, even if it is just cheap food. Trevor relishes in the heaviness he starts to feel, even welcomes it. At this point there has to be a stray mom or child that is looking in his direction but in all honesty he couldn't bring himself to care.

Trevor hates to slow down, but he does, quietly eyeing the people that pass him by. A lady with pink hair strolls by, a dad failing to control his two rowdy kids lumbers past, and-.

There's a teenager. Trevor squints at the person, in utter confusion. Dark, slicked back hair. Blue eyes. Stocky build, short, but powerful.

There's a smirk on his face that floods Trevor with familiarity, his eyes widening at the recognition, and as his blood runs cold he can't help himself but try to blink the tears out of his eyes. It's _him. By God, it can't be him._

When Trevor opens his eyes, there's nothing but an empty area where _he_ was.

Trevor, he, he can't fucking breathe. He stands up and literally runs out of there, his feast forgotten. His heart is threatening to rip open his chest and if he could bring himself to care he must've noticed just how hard he was knocking into people, but all he can think and see and hear is just _static_. There's angry red flooding into his eyes, and he can barely control his body anymore.

Trevor somehow manages to find an exit, and his lungs burn at the chill of the winter air, but at least it takes some of the edge off and the red in his eyes. He nearly collapses, stumbling around the open parking lot, ignoring the glares of worried parents as he makes his way towards the road. He doesn't even bother to go back for Wade and Ron; he would've killed them if they came after him.

When Trevor finally reaches his trailer, it's a long time after sundown, and the smell of stale alcohol lingers on his lips as he collapses into his bed, the liquor thankfully numbing him down but his mind still kept betraying him, and as he sits there thinking about _him_ , he realizes that it's too painful to even say his name, the wound still fresh, the heaviness of his abandonment pressing into his soul. With every sigh and memory, Trevor can feel just how heavy the darkness and loneliness of his empty trailer really is.

Trevor doesn't sleep that night. Or the night after that.


	2. Goodbye Stranger

The party is at some rickety old man's house in the poor part of town. Kids crowd around the front door, all fake smiles and bleached hair, nothing of real importance; they all just fade in the background. The place is blasting music, all hype and pop-y, perfect for drowning out sleeplessness in everyone's eyes and focusing their attention away from Trevor. It's these kinds of places that he could blend right into, where no one questions anything and everyone turns a blind eye away from the full cups of alcohol and the dark corner in the back where you could light up at.

Trevor sits down on a stained couch and tries to drown out the loud noises coming from the happy couple next to him.

"Jesus… they're like eating each other." he accidentally whispers aloud, but the teenagers don't hear him.

He lets his legs spread out a bit, his hand clumsily wrapping around a cup. Trevor futilely attempts to ignore just how everything around him is slowly becoming undone, the music becoming just a bit too loud, the lights being all that-much brighter. T nervously clutches his drink and takes a long swig from it, focusing his attention on a pretty girl's ass instead of his throbbing head.

But in reality, Trevor knows that he's not here for the drugs or a hook up, he's here for a distraction. It's not working. Beer after beer he chugs down, swiping cups from panting teenagers, it does nothing but blur the corners of his eyes and send fire racing under his skin. He drinks like it'll save him, but the image of that sunny day from years before keeps replaying in his mind. The wind was circling his ears, the grass underneath his back was soft, the sky was the deepest blue of the darkest ocean. Trevor lets himself be cradled by the earth, his eyes shifting to look at the gentleness that crept its way into Michael's eyes-

Trevor drops his cup out of his shaking hands, his mind floating away, moving as fast as the other dancers move away from him. Their awkward glances and floundering limbs kick-starts his brain, it panicking for T to get _out_ of there.

T hasn't been okay since he saw _Michael_ standing there in the mall, and now he wouldn't mind passing out and choking on his own vomit.

He runs for the open front door and out onto the road, shoving past the groups of teens gathering around the house. Trevor slips on the slushy road and bounds straight towards an alley. There's a man underneath the flickering street light, a cigarette held up between his fingers. Trevor approaches the man quickly, impossibly fast, and throws a punch square in his jaw. The man struggles to get to his feet, and that's when T jumps him, the man's head hitting the slick asphalt with a sickeningly satisfying crunch.

T has him pinned, and blow after blow he sends hurtling into the man's face, blood pooling on the ground. His knuckles painfully scrape skin every time it connects with the stranger's head, but he barely feels anything. This man probably has a family waiting for him somewhere, his perfect wife folded neatly into an arm chair, nervous when he isn't home at such a late time. His kid wouldn't wonder where his dad was; he would curl up in front of the TV and yell at his mom for being paranoid. Her straining, pretty smile would last, last way after she cocks her head at her kid and sends him to his room, last all the way into the night when she would end up sleeping alone.

The last ounce of rationality is pouring out through Trevor's fists and he couldn't stand to think even for a moment, he needs to escape the emptiness, the cold nights where he would wake up alone, his hands searching the darkness of his bed for a hint of a person that isn't even _there_ anymore.

The stranger is long out cold when Trevor stands up, wiping his bloody fist against his nose to cover up his watering eyes. He goes slack in his legs and flips his head upwards, exhaling deeply, watching his cold breath swirl in the still night air.

It's in the dim light of the moon and flickering light overhead that he gets a glimpse of silhouettes coming towards him. They must be friends of the pulp that used to be a person under Trevor's feet. Trevor confidently raises his bloodied fists, welcoming the new challengers, but deep down he wishes nothing more than to be beat until he's dead.

And that is what happens. Almost.

The men, 4 or 5 tall ones, encircle Trevor. Maybe, just _maybe,_ if he had an ounce of strength left, an extra ounce of anger, of anything really, maybe he could've taken these assholes on. But with just one punch to the side, Trevor crumples to the ground. The world turns into a flurry of shouting, kicking, and punching, pain exploding under his ribs with every hit. Trevor curls up into a ball, trying to protect himself from the brutality of these men. He can feel the blood leaving him and pain is simply everywhere, so much that Trevor can feel himself jolt with every kick.

Once the beating was done, he should be left there to rot, die from the blood loss and cold. He fucking _deserves_ it, for God's sake. But he can't just let go. Trevor growls out one vicious, nasty noise that scatters the attackers like goddamn city pigeons. Struggling to his feet, Trevor clutches his side, nasty pain shooting through him with every movement, but he manages to shuffle out of the alley.

He makes it out into the street, but a few steps later he's sent tumbling to the ground, his face twisting in pain. The kids from the party start to take notice, their eyebrows knitting in confusion, but Trevor can't really blame them. He'd be confused too if someone just hobbled out of an alley, bleeding profusely, and in agonizing pain.

"Hey dog, you… alright?" an unfamiliar voice questioned from above.

"Yeah, yeah fuck off. I don't need any of your help." T snarled, his attempt to seem okay dissolving when he couldn't stop a groan from escaping through his cut lips.

"C'mon, we ain't finna leave a dude out here to die." another voice said gruffly.

Trevor suddenly got hoisted off the grimy street and was being supported by two teenagers; one tall, lanky boy and a shorter, chubbier guy. T flinched as they cautiously wrapped their arms around him and led them all back into the roaring party. Shuffling and pushing through the growing crowd, the trio manages to find an empty (albeit destroyed) room upstairs to put T in. The room is dark and dank, dust lining the windowpanes and empty shelves, trash and cans and mysterious stains seemingly everywhere. The two boys slowly drop Trevor onto a bed and allow him to catch his breath while they go find some supplies to stop the blood from leaving his tattered body.

After a few minutes of squirming on the bed, fingertips tracing aching ribs and blossoming bruises, a roll of clean bandages and a bottle of rubbing alcohol appear in the hands of one of guys. The taller one strolls up to Trevor and unfolds his hand, revealing a quarter of whiskey in it. He silently passes the bottle to T, who eagerly unscrews the top and takes a swig of the golden liquid.

He sputters a bit, the back of his throat burning and the drink makes its way down. "Thanks.

"No problem, homie." The stranger replies before collapsing into a rickety chair near the window.

The shorter one comes over to the bed, an alcohol-damp rag in hand, and gingerly wipes the dirt and blood off of the shallow cuts on Trevor's face. Hissing, he instinctually backs away from the rag, digging his nails into the flesh of his palm. Trevor's eyes are mostly swollen shut, but with what little area he sees he scans the face of the kid in front of him. He looks youthful, roughly the same age as himself, maybe hovering around 15 or 16. A couple minutes pass and most of the blood is gone, so the kid wraps some gauze around the larger wounds on his arms.

The guy stands up and dusts his hands off when he's satisfied with the bandages. "Okay, I think I've done all I can."

The boy near the window hops up from gazing outside and walks over to the bed. "Eh, you need a ride? Me and Fatty over here were just about to leave anyway."

T snickers when the shorter boy rolls his eyes in response. "Sure, okay. Not because I need it, but I just don't wanna say no to you two lovely people."

"Whatever you say man." the lanky one says back.

The ride back to Trevor's trailer is short and uneventful. He could've, _probably_ , walked there on his own, but in reality he was enjoying the warm air pumping through the trashed interior. The two teens in the front of the car seemed to be engulfed in themselves, eyes lingering longer on each other than the road, laughing and joking around with the other. As soon as a familiar dilapidated trailer comes into view, Trevor's hand is already curling around the car door's handle.

The creaky vehicle lurches to a stop, and T steps out into the bitingly cold air, shielding his face from the bitter wind. He turns to thank his uninvited saviors and shuffles around in the dusty gravel by the foot of his trailer, giving a weak wave as a goodbye (possibly a thank you, too).

"No problem dog! If you need a ride, just give one of us a call! I'm Franklin," the shorter one said, "… and _I'm_ Lamar!" interrupts the taller one, sticking his head out of the car's window and craning his neck to see T.

"Yeah, yeah. Fuck off!" Trevor shouted at the two boys as they lurched out of his driveway.

Running up his front steps, T pushes open the unlocked door, welcoming the shelter from the harsh weather outside. His beloved mother isn't there clearly, or else he would see her delicate frame draped across the stained couch in the main room. Sauntering into his trashed bedroom, Trevor shucks off his shoes and bloodied jacket into the dark corners of his room before he leaps into his creaking bed, freezing covers digging into his chilled skin.

A seemingly endless pain from his tattered body no doubt agonizes Trevor the entire night, ensuring that he would be walking through the hallways on the first day of sophomore year like a zombie. T rolls around in his sheets, anxiety about starting the new school year hitting him.

Oh, shit. There's only 3 more days until he's a sophomore.


End file.
